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I don't have any poems on tap that I haven't used. Worse, even if I did, they're not in theme for a Mythcon. Worst, I would rather not do a thing in public if I do not think I can do it well, and I judge my poetic efforts to be mediocre at best, with no particular impetus for me to improve.
However,
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There is, I ween, an undercurrent of, "WTF kind of Oðinnsgyðja are you anyway, not writing poetry?"
Soooo I went home and wrote some. Apparently, it's easier to dash off more rather than ranting about how I can't find the other ones, and how even if I did they wouldn't be in-theme.
Well, as least these have the virtue of being short, and therefore there is not much one can say about them, good, bad, or indifferent.
A fine-downed feather fell to earth
Traced a trail across the asphalt.
Sky-Spear seeks her supper at Safeway:
Roof-rats' roosts are rarely restful.
Striding legs slid through the surface
Well-twined, the twinned wakes wove the water.
The steel snake slithered to a stop beside;
Scullers skim faster than stuck-fast traffic.
Cirdan's steeds still know
The Straight Way; their wakes are proof.
See? Herringbone clouds!
--a very vaguely connected set borne of my annoyance in the shower that the kind of criticism I really wanted was, "I rather liked how you tied in the similar imagery of the feather in stanza A with the waves in B and picked it up again with the clouds in C.
It would be hard to have any such criticism but that there actually were an A, B, and C through which to thread that imagery--and hey, I even got one to be on theme. Woohoo.
Now, how do I try a more structured form without the bitter, acrid smoke of burnt sonnet filling my third nostril's hindsmell?
-- Lorrie